


Pure

by orphan_account



Series: Thirteen Ways [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 19:28:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are thirteen possible ways this could pan out. Sherlock just wishes it didn't have to be option number ten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pure

The roof was cold and the sky held the grey promise of rain. Sherlock pulled his coat a little tighter against himself as the gravity of the situation really sank in: he was going to die by his own volition. All he could think about was John.

“There’s no way out of this, is there?” he asks offhandedly.

Moriarty smiles.

“Nope. Not really. Unless you want everyone you love dead.”

“Nothing will persuade you?”

Moriarty gives pause. Even he has to admit that this has piqued his interest. It was a shame Sherlock had to die; he would miss this.

“What did you have in mind?”

“I’m offering you myself. To do with as you please.”

“Oh, Sherlock. I thought you were much less self-sacrificing than that. I’m a bit disappointed. Where’s the fun if you just surrender?”

Sherlock cuts to the chase. No need to draw this out.

“I’ll let you fuck me.”

 _So crass_ , Jim thinks.

“Language, dear.”

Sherlock waits for a real answer.

Moriarty rolls his eyes and lets out a huff of air.

“Oh fine. I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t want that, but why do you think that would be enough to save you and your friends? Hasn’t John Watson done the honors yet?”

Sherlock looks to the ground for a split second. Moriarty is pleased.

“You’re a virgin,” he needlessly reveals.

“Yes. And you can have me, if it means everyone leaves scott free.”

Jim licks his lips; his mouth waters. To be someone’s first, and not just any someone: Sherlock Holmes’ first. And to just be _handed_ the opportunity? Too lovely.

“When?” he asks.

“Now, if you like. If you have the proper...accoutrements.”

Moriarty laughs. Leave it to Sherlock to know something like that. The man does impress him. He has to be honest. A man can only be as strong as his word.

“You already know I do. You never know when an opportunity will arise.”

 _So crass_ , Sherlock thinks.

Moriarty looks at him expectantly. This isn’t time to dawdle.

He sheds his coat, methodically folding it in thirds. He pulls his shirt from his trousers, and hesitates on his fly. It’s cold, but that’s not why he’s shivering.

Moriarty has already pulled his cock from his pants, waiting for Sherlock to get it over with. But Jim has endless patience, time, and artillery. Sherlock turns himself around and pulls his trousers and pants down and places his hands against the brick wall of the stairwell. He begins listing the periodic table of elements to steady his breathing. He remembers whom he doing this for.

“Lovely,” Jim breathes, suddenly much closer to Sherlock than before.

He runs his hands over Sherlock’s pale flank.

“Get on with it.”

“Touchy.”

Sherlock isn’t sure where it came from--and he supposes that it doesn’t really matter--but it’s not long before the caresses cease and lubricant trickles down his arse. The wind chills it rapidly, and he shivers again.

“Steady,” Moriarty whispers. It’s almost tender. Sherlock can tell that he’s savoring this moment.

Wet fingers slip inside. It hurts. It’s not supposed to be like this.

“Don’t worry. It gets better from here, love.”

Sherlock laughs humorlessly as tears burn his eyes. It’s really too much.

“Does it?”

“Not for you.”

Sherlock is thankful for small mercies. Moriarty doesn’t need to be taking care during this stage at all.

The fingers evacuate.

Sherlock hears the slick slide of hand on shaft. It’s unpleasant. He goes back to listing elements. He doesn’t make it past zinc before something much bigger is piercing him.

“ _Shit_ ,” Sherlock swears.

Moriarty laughs again. This is thrilling beyond all else. It’s dangerous; anyone could see them if they looked up. They’d see the great Sherlock Holmes giving up himself to a mass murderer on the roof of a bloody hospital. Glorious. It’s perfect.

“This is the fun part.”

 _For whom?_ , Sherlock wonders.

The pace picks up, and Moriarty lets himself go. It’s constant.

In (full) out (reprieve) in (pain) out (rest) in (sob) out (hope).

This continues for an undetermined amount of time. Sherlock can’t get himself to focus on much of anything other than the dirty brick in front of him. At least he doesn’t have to look his rapist in the eye. Yet.

He remembers whom he doing this for.

It’s worth it. It’s all worth it.

For them. 

For them.

For _them_.

Moriarty release a huge breath and a new wetness fills Sherlock up. It’s done. It’s over. Option ten of thirteen is complete. Later, Sherlock will text Mycroft the code to let him know that it’s over. But now…

He cries. Sobs. Aches.

“Oh, Sherlock. It will all be fine. This was lovely, love. You were wonderful.”

Sherlock picks his trousers back up, fastens them, wipes his eyes.

Jim’s phone rings.

“One second. Do you mind?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer.

“Stand down,” is all he utters.

Sherlock is reassured, but now is no time to celebrate.

Sherlock moves quickly. He reaches for the knife he kept strapped in a sheath to his chest and spins quickly around. He plunges the blade into Moriarty’s neck until it protrudes out the other side. His phone drops from his hand to the roof.

Jim turns around as his neck gushes crimson.

“Not fair,” he gurgles, collapsing to his knees. 

Sherlock looks on.

With his last strength, Jim smirks. Bested by his only equal.

 _Fitting_ , he thinks, before his world goes black.

Sherlock vomits before pulling out his mobile. He wipes his mouth as he pulls up Mycroft’s name.

**PURE. -SH**

It’s thirty seconds before he gets a reply.

**I’m sorry. -MH**


End file.
